


Wounds

by Thedis



Series: Azure Moons (Feleth) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Relationship, theyre stupid for each other though and lowkey realising that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-11 10:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20544392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedis/pseuds/Thedis
Summary: Gronder Field leaves wounds too deep to heal overnight.





	1. Unearthed

Byleth clutched their stomach, feeling the mean, red gashes still lingering from the fight. Gronder field was no longer alive with the cries of the soldiers or their weapons and armor clashing, commanders shouting orders across the writhing mass of battle. It had become a graveyard. Byleth had helped fill it.  
They dragged themselves onward, across the corpse-littered mud.  
  
Everything was turning. They didn't know where they were going, other than away from the body of the girl, still warm. Somewhere in the corner of their eye, a soldier in medic's uniform appeared, and then next to them, another figure, petite, reddish hair, hands raised in gesture as they talked. Anette.  
  
Byleth stumbled in her direction, one trembling step after the other. The warlock turned to them with a shocked expression.  
"Professor? Are you alright? You look..."

"Felix," they blurted out, "where's Felix? "  
"Already on his way to the infirmary, the trek just left- Professor?"  
Their knees hit the soil, digging into the blood-stained earth.  
Here... Wasn't it around here that Raphael had died, the wish for his little sister's safety on his lips? Byleth felt sick all over again.  
The hands falling into their lap were red with blood.  
  
But there was no time for that now.  
Byleth looked up and into Anette's wide blue eyes, nodding, although the motion sent their head spinning.  
"Thank you. I'll go see him. I'll... I'll go tell him."

  
Felix was sprawled out on one of the infirmary beds, still in the trousers that were part of his armor, though torn and speckled with red. His lean upper body was bare but for a fresh bandage encircling it entirely and wrapping around his arms.  
The mage's spell, unforeseeable in its raw destruction, had torn into him like thousands of tiny blades.  
Byleth hated seeing him like this.  
For all that Felix was, all his energy, all his motion, an unstoppable force, they hadn't imagined he could be so... still.  
So _fragile._  
  
Shame went on a rampage inside their heart as they realised that before today, they hadn't even seen him as mortal.  
Byleth had separated him from the group to flank the enemy, sent him off alone past several opponents to deactivate traps, and placed him on the front lines so that foes would waste their energy in the attempt to even put a scratch to his endlessly agile body.  
  
Not anymore. Not on their behalf.  
When Byleth considered all the times he had come to their aid in battle, they had owed him their own life for years.  
Now they owed him the life of his father, too.  
  
Felix, oblivious, raised his head when he saw them enter, his features lighting up almost unnoticeably.  
Strangely, his wounds hadn't been able to take the grace from his movements, even the smallest ones.  
  
"Ah, hello. Come to visit me?"  
They didn't answer.  
He frowned.  
"Forget it, there's no way you're not a patient. You look... Green. Still in one piece, professor?"  
Byleth's fingers clenched around the doorframe.  
"Felix," they choked, "your father."  
  
Felix's face suddenly lost all colour.  
  
"How."  
It didn't sound like a question.  
  
"Dimitri... The girl we took in tried to kill him from behind. Rodrigue took the blow in his stead."  
  
With empty eyes, Felix got up from the bed.  
"Don't-"  
"Where is he?"  
He didn't wait for an answer, taking long, angry strides toward them.  
"The boar prince. I'll find him. I'll-"  
Byleth dug their heels in and pressed their hands to the sides of the doorframe.  
"Not on my watch."  
Felix stood taller than them. His voice was liquid ice.  
"Let me through."  
"No. Your wounds-"  
"_Fuck_ my wounds," he yelled at the top of his lungs, his hands fisting into the fabric of their collar.  
His unaffected facade which had held for all of ten seconds collapsed with a firework of emotion, broke into sobs riveting across his body as he half-heartedly slammed his knuckles against Byleth's sternum while his nose dug into their neck.  
Their arms closed around him and he tried to push them backwards once more, but easily surrendered to their efforts when they steered him towards the bed instead.  
"Don't touch me," he croaked, as he clung to them. He was burning up.  
  
With the loss of his heat as they slowly guided him back onto the mattress, Byleth felt something wet at their chest where their bodies had touched.  
Wet, and warm.

  
_"Nurse!"_

They could barely hear their own voice, far away and muffled as if underwater.  
  
On Felix's abdomen, patches of red had begun to seep through the bandages, soiling Byleth's clothing as they sprouted like uncanny flowers. Felix had taken no notice of it, not then and not now, eyes covered by his forearm.  
As soon as the nurse rushed into the room, he bit his lip. A small trickle of blood ran down his chin as he stifled his cries.  
Felix was left silently trembling beneath the touch of the nurse and Byleth, who held up his torso as his bandages were being changed.  
  
The sight of him now broke their heart.  
They could imagine what he was feeling now - they had been through it. This wasn't even the beginning.  
  
The week following Jeralt's death, Byleth had remembered more about their childhood than ever before in their life.  
The happy memories had hurt, stung and bled all hope from their heart, but much worse were the regrets.  
Every dulled-down tantrum, every word of distrust, every act of emotional distance or ignorance had been crystal clear in their mind, weighing on their soul like so many millstones until Byleth believed that if they had been a better child, a normal child, a _loving_ child, their father's body would never have went cold.  
It had put a crack into something deep inside Byleth which they had always fathomed untouchable - and their relationship with Jeralt had been open and happy in comparison to how Felix had felt about his father.  
They wanted desperately to protect him from the pain to come, but he wasn't talking, not even shedding another tear.  
Just shivering, silently.  
  
The nurse gave Byleth an accusing glare, and they lowered their eyes.  
Perhaps the woman was right. They had broken the bad news to him, these were the consequences.  
"I should leave," they mumbled, but before they could get off their knees, warm fingers were closing around their wrist with surprising strength.  
"Don't," Felix choked out.  
Byleth looked at the nurse.  
She frowned, but nodded, got up and left the room.

  
  
Felix had stopped crying entirely.  
Once Byleth and him were alone again, shallow, open mouthed breaths had succeeded his muted sobs and finally given way to silence.  
He hadn't looked them in the eye, but Byleth's hand had remained firmly enclosed in his.  
After they had sat like this for a few more minutes, gently, Felix let go, and rested his palm on his stomach.  
His gaze pointed out the window, away from them.  
  
"I don't forgive him. He'll pay."  
His voice was a little hoarse.  
Byleth didn't know what to say, so they didn't say anything.  
"Not in blood. There will be something else. I don't know what yet. I guess I'll tell you."  
For several minutes, it was quiet.  
  
Felix's quiet words cut the void as precisely as one of his swords.  
"What happened to the girl?"  
  
Byleth started crying.  
Now it was him who opened his arms to them, turning on his bed and holding them close as they wet his shoulder with their tears.  
  
"We can't do this now," Felix muttered into their hair once they had stopped shaking. His voice was hoarse now, quaking again, but there was no malice in it.  
Their shared understanding stood between them like a wall of glass.  
If either opened up now, they wouldn't have picked up their pieces before Edelgard's army had crushed the entire rebellion.  
If Dimitri's forces were to win, they would do so on their shoulders.  
  
This was war.  
  
Byleth nodded.  
Gently, the two separated.  
Neither of them made eye contact.  
"You should get those cuts looked at," Felix added, quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I'm not the only one who thinks Felix didn't get to grieve enough. This little fic (2 short chapters unless I end up changing something) takes place immediately after Gronder, but I will certainly pick up the topic in a post-war chapter. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Drew something from the fic and made a cover. In Hilda's words, don't expect much more than that!  
On tumblr: https://the-flying-beetle.tumblr.com/post/187607300443/hi-i-dont-think-theyre-okay-anyway-this  
On da: https://www.deviantart.com/the-flying-beetle/art/Wounds-812725006


	2. Buried

Three days later, Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius lay buried in Garreg Mach's cemetery, next to Jeralt Eisner and Byleth stood in front of Felix's door, a silver tray in their hands.  
  
A necessary peace had settled over Garreg Mach in this short time, though even for its sparse population, the monastery remained strangely quiet.  
The weather, resemblant of an early autumn rather than the vivid sun and blooming flowers typical for the Great Tree Moon, only seemed to underline the melancholy of the Kingdom Army.  
  
The last time Byleth had seen their closest friend - the last time anyone had seen him - had been in the infirmary, on that fateful afternoon.  
Not even when the rest of the Blue Lion house had gathered to bury Lord Rodrigue's body had Felix shown himself.  
  
It was so unlike him to just disappear - to somewhere else than the training grounds, at least - that Byleth had known to leave him in peace.  
But there were new matters at hand, and Byleth knew deep down that Felix would only get mad should they treat him with misplaced delicacy when he was needed.  
  
Nevertheless, they braced themselves.  
They might find him upset, hissing and spitting insults and curses, the way he sometimes behaved when he was cornered.  
  
They didn't have a free hand to knock, so Byleth cleared their throat instead, leaning in on the solid oak door.  
"Felix? Would you like some tea?"  
  
No answer.  
  
Perhaps they hadn't given him enough time. Goddess knew, there might never be enough time.

  
If he was even in the room at all.  
If he was even...  
  
Byleth's thoughts were mercifully disrupted when something rustled behind the door.  
Then all of a sudden it opened, the unexpected swing making them flinch back.  
  
Felix was fully armored, hair disheveled, but still nestled into the semblance of a ponytail.  
He looked like someone who had cried through several nights before running out of tears.

  
Strangely, among the pain and exhaustion there was something else in those eyes of his, something Byleth couldn't name until the moment they met their own, and they let out a breath they didn't know they had been holding.  
_Peace._  
  
There was peace in Felix's eyes.  
  
Byleth was startled by the unsolicited rush of pride spreading warmth throughout their chest, mingling with guilt.  
Perhaps what they had mistaken for ambition in the man who had been their student for a year had always been perseverance.  
  
Any worse than this, and Byleth doubted they could have forced him back onto the battlefield, no matter how slim the chance of victory without one of their biggest assets.  
  
Felix shot a glance down at the steaming pot - four spices - and back up at them, eyes wide.  
Confused, Byleth followed suit and realised soon enough why he looked so shocked - their startled jump had shaken the tray enough to spill the hot tea all over their fingers.  
Only then did it start to hurt, and they gave a quiet hiss.  
  
Felix's glove brushed their knuckles as he took the tablet from their hands. His features betrayed nothing.  
  
"Get in."  
  
Hesitantly, Byleth obeyed, going after Felix who set the tray on his desk and pulled open a drawer.  
His chin nodded towards the bed.  
  
"Sit."  
"It's okay, Felix. It barely touched my skin. See?"  
  
Byleth held out their hands, knuckles up, showing him the drops of amber running down their gauntlets.  
Instead of giving them an answer, he reached for the metal clasps of their armor and pulled it from their wrists.  
They half expected him to drop it to the ground, but instead he placed the gauntlets on his desk next to the tea set, holding both their hands carefully in his own as he pulled a handkerchief from the drawer.  
A noble, afterall.  
  
His eyes narrowed - in concentration or in annoyance, Byleth couldn't say for sure - as Felix ran the fabric along their fingers, diligently making sure not to miss a spot.  
  
His touch was careful, but deliberate.  
In a way, the two weren't strangers to each other's bodies.  
So many sparring sessions they had spent fixated on their counterpart's every move. Countless times their skin had connected as they yanked and pushed and kicked each other off kilter to land a winning blow.  
They had shoved each other's heads into the sand, slapped the weapons from their grasp, and for every time they clashed, they had linked their hands to help each other up from the ground.  
Byleth could feel this familiarity, even though Felix was now taking to them with a handkerchief instead of his sword.  
  
After a minute or so, he turned their right hand on its back.  
Felix's thumb rested in their palm, applying light pressure before brushing along the skin as if admiring a piece of art.  
Byleth's eyes went wide.  
  
That didn't get by Felix. In the blink of an eye, he snapped out of it and resumed his cleaning, still gentle, if a smidge more rough than before.  
Byleth risked a glance and found that his cheeks were flushed, his brow furrowed.  
They bit back a smile.  
  
Finally, Felix had covered every inch of their hands, digits, knuckles, the sensitive skin between the fingers, and appeared to deem his task complete.  
The handkerchief was balled up and thrown towards the desk, where it landed against Byleth's gauntlets.  
  
He was taking care of them, even now.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
Felix scoffed.  
"What for?"  
  
Byleth fumbled for words. Putting their conflicted feelings into the confines of a sentence was proving more difficult than expected.  
  
"I'm... much too quick to drag you back onto the battlefield."

Felix's brow rippled into a frown.  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
"I shouldn't be relying on you like this."  
The frown, like his voice, deepened with irritation.  
"Keep up that attitude and you're leaving through the window."  
  
"I'm serious. You've... You've always had my back, one way or another. Out there, and in here."  
They gestured vaguely towards the scenery outside, a movement barely fit to envelop the idea of Garreg Mach.  
"Without you, I'd be dead many times over. Even when for once you can't single-handedly shoulder my weight and everyone else's, just three days after-"  
Felix interrupted them with a bark.  
"Will you shut up? Who says I can't take care of you? Your stupid martyr complex makes me want to retch."  
His index finger stabbed pointedly at their sternum.  
"How many times have you taken a blow for me out there, huh?"  
  
Byleth gulped.  
"Is this about-"  
"What were you even thinking, pulling six of them? Six! Was the shot at Claude seriously that worth it?"  
"It wasn't that! If I hadn't jumped in, they would have gotten to Anette."  
He snarled.  
"And if I hadn't pulled you from under that soldier's axe, you wouldn't be sitting here."  
  
Byleth lowered their eyes.  
In other words, if it hadn't been for them, he wouldn't have had to take that blow.  
  
Felix's fingers closed tight around their shoulders.  
"Don't you _dare_ blame yourself for _my_ injuries."  
  
Their eyes fled his, caught in the act.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Already, Byleth could tell that Felix regretted snapping at them.  
They knew this expression well; the averted gaze, the pursed lips and slightly knitted eyebrows.  
  
In their academy days, this regret would often turn into anger at himself which in return made the young fighter lash out even more viciously.  
  
But things were different now, and so was Felix.  
Now, Byleth simply watched as the tension seeped from his shoulders and felt the chill as his hands fell from their arms.  
  
"You should be," he grumbled, a half-hearted attempt at a scolding that didn't even convince himself.

  
Felix sighed.  
"I'm the last person who wants to see something happen to Anette. But if you- if you got hurt, I..."  
  
He closed his eyes, all scrunched up forehead, massaging the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb.  
"Honestly, some days you're no better than my old man. Or..."

  
Byleth could read the grief on his brow.  
"Or Glenn."  
  
"Felix-"  
  
He cut them off by taking them into his arms, pressing their body to his with a warm kind of desperation.  
His voice tickled the side of their neck.  
  
"We're not kids anymore. Stop being selfish, and let me protect you for once, idiot."  
  
He was right.  
  
Each and every one of their precious students had worked hard to be where they were today.  
Wasn't this what Byleth had always wanted for them?  
To grow strong and follow the paths that they chose?  
  
Felix had chosen to protect them.  
All that was left for Byleth was to accept that choice, whether they liked to or not.  
  
They shook their head.  
"You're right. Thanks, I... I needed to hear that."  
"Good. Now shut up."  
They chuckled into the soft fur of his collar, smiling from one ear to another.  
  
_I need you._  
_Not just your sword._  
  
"... I said, shut up."  
  
Byleth froze, their face suddenly hot for no apparent reason.  
Voicing their thoughts without realising they were speaking out loud was certainly a first.  
  
Every muscle in their body stiff, they waited silently for the loss of contact, for Felix's warmth to fade into the cool touch of the dawning evening as he pushed them away for their transgression.  
  
Instead, his embrace tightened.  
A little too tight, perhaps, but Byleth craved it.  
  
"You don't have to ask, moron."  
  
Scared that if they spoke, he could hear the tear rolling down their cheek, Byleth nodded into his shoulder.  
  
The two warriors held each other for a moment longer, both lost in themselves.  
Thoughts ebbed and flowed with each beat of Felix's heart against the stillness of Byleth's chest.

  
Slowly, as they listened to each other breathing in the silence of the dormitory, the things left unsaid became buried beneath the warmth they shared, distant and irrelevant and pale in comparison to this moment.  
  
There was still so much left for them to discuss, so many wounds to heal that would have to wait until after the war.  
But they had time, and each other, and perhaps, Byleth thought, perhaps that was all they needed.  
  
"You know," muttered Byleth after a while, "the annoying thing is, I was sure I had those Alliance soldiers covered. Makes me worry if my skills are rusting."  
  
Felix's grin bled some of his warmth into his words.  
"Sounds like you're asking me to spar."  
  
"I am. Let's go."  
  
  
On the desk in the corner, two empty porcelain cups and a matching pot of four-spice tea were left forgotten. Next to them rested a pair of gauntlets and a balled up handkerchief, fine white fabric almost otherworldly in the darkness of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, chapter 2! This was a hard one, and I could never have done it without one of my closest friend's, who acted as beta reader and advisor. Kudos to Carina, I love you!
> 
> So here's the comfort to the hurt. Let me know how you liked it!
> 
> Link to my illustration's tumblr post goes here: https://the-flying-beetle.tumblr.com/post/187655051338/this-ship-is-nothing-if-not-extremely-tender-to-me


End file.
